Murder victim's memory lives in St. Louis church breakfasts for homeless

ST. LOUIS • A framed pencil sketch of Carol Bledsoe hanging on the wall of the basement breakfast room is the only visible reminder of her at weekly breakfasts for the homeless at Christ Church Episcopal Cathedral downtown.

A maze of more than 16 tables crowds the harshly lit cafeteria. The peach-colored walls are mostly bare except for the drawing on one wall, above a message referencing the Bible in large block letters: "All things are possible through Christ who strengthens us."

Every Saturday morning, dozens of St. Louis' homeless gather here for breakfast, which often includes hot coffee, bagels, boiled eggs and bananas.

The weekly meal is known as "Miss Carol's Breakfast," named after the Episcopal cathedral's secretary who was fatally stabbed years ago in a hallway one floor up. Homeless men and women who frequented the church at the time called her "Miss Carol."

Ten years have passed since she died, but workers and volunteers say Bledsoe's legacy lives in the church's service to the poor and downtown homeless population.

"Carol was a deeply caring person and had a special place in her heart for the homeless," said the Rev. Michael Kinman, cathedral dean. Her death "really gave us the opportunity to recommit to this ministry, to keep believing that God calls us to be open to everyone downtown, specifically to ministry with the poor."

Bledsoe, 64, of south St. Louis County, had worked as the church secretary for about four years when she was killed.

She had helped start a breakfast program at the church after persuading a local doughnut shop to donate day-old breads and pastries.

Her desk was just inside the cathedral's main office behind a red Dutch door, the top half of which always remained open.

Church members remember Bledsoe often letting the homeless in the office to use the phone. Now, a security guard sits at a table in front of the locked door.

"If you had a problem and you didn't know how to deal with it, you talked to Carol," recalled church member Nancy Dickinson of University City. "She was the last person you'd ever expect anyone to attack."

'A VERY SICK MAN'

{p style="text-align: left;"}On Dec. 19, 2002, Bledsoe came out of her office to check on a commotion in the hallway. Police said Michael Davis, a homeless man who hung around the church, slashed her throat with a 3-inch pocketknife. He was arrested nearby, carrying a bloody knife.

{p style="text-align: left;"}Davis was a former carpenter and a Navy veteran who was mentally ill and had an extensive criminal past. He routinely slept inside the cathedral and was seen rambling to himself in front of the large stone figures on the church's intricate altar.

Davis was charged with first-degree murder, but a city judge dismissed Davis' case when he was diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic and deemed mentally unfit to stand trial. Davis' relatives said at the time they had struggled for decades to get him psychiatric treatment.

Now 58, Davis has lived at the state mental hospital in Fulton, Mo., for years.

"He is where he belongs," said Davis' lawyer, Justin Meehan. "There's no question that there are other Michael Davises out there who aren't in control of their minds, but we don't have the interest or the resources required to help them."

Bledsoe's son, Bill Bledsoe, 45, says he has never spoken to Davis and has little interest in doing so. But he said he occasionally checks the status of Davis' case to make sure Davis remains hospitalized.

"This is a tragedy of a very sick man that we as a society failed in many ways," said Bledsoe, a Webster Groves native who now lives near Seattle.

He said he draws parallels between Davis' life and 20-year-old Adam Lanza, who fatally shot 26 children and adults this month at an elementary school in Newtown, Conn.

"Everybody's responsible for their own actions, but I'm not angry," he said. "There was plenty of opportunity for us as a society to take better care of him."

For several years after her murder, the downtown cathedral provided an annual holiday meal for the homeless called "Miss Carol's Christmas Brunch."

Annette Carr, the cathedral's administrator, said the church stopped having the brunch a few years ago because of waning attendance from competing holiday church meals.

Three years ago, the Bledsoe family's church, Emmanuel Episcopal in Webster Groves, took over "Miss Carol's Christmas Brunch" to raise money for the downtown cathedral's Saturday breakfast program.

Kelsey Mitchell, 22, of Webster Groves, who baby-sat for two of Carol Bledsoe's grandchildren years ago, runs the holiday brunch. This year's event raised about $ 2,000, she said.

"The reason I keep doing this is to keep Carol's memory alive," Mitchell said. "I want (her grandchildren) to always know how great of a person she was and how much she was loved."

Bill Bledsoe still has relatives in St. Louis but couldn't attend this year's fundraising brunch on Dec. 16. He said he addressed the crowd by Skype, thanking everyone and talking about how routine, small acts of kindness like those his mother did can make a big difference in someone's life.

He said he usually marks the anniversary of his mother's death by volunteering at a homeless shelter and reflecting on her life.

"It's just about going and doing something small," he said. "If you can string a few of those little things together, maybe you'll impact a few lives."

'SHE LEFT A LEGACY'

Liz Watkins, a volunteer at Christ Church Cathedral, said Carol Bledsoe's drive to help others lives on at the church.

"She took care of people — whatever they needed," said Watkins, 71, of St. Louis. "Even though she passed in a horrific way, we still cater to the homeless. She left a legacy of being kind to our neighbors."

At 7:30 a.m. last Saturday, a side door to Christ Church Cathedral opened, and a cluster of women filed inside. They took tickets as they entered, and received brown paper bags, each containing three hard-boiled eggs, a banana and a small container of ham. Donated St. Louis Bread Company pastries awaited at another table along with hot coffee.

Martha Mitchell, mother of Kelsey Mitchell and also a volunteer, helped hand out 150 bags, which disappeared one by one. She looked around her at the basement full of people eating and taking a break from the chill outside. Some sat beneath the pencil drawing of Bledsoe.

"I think she would be very heartened," Martha Mitchell said.

As the breakfast ended, volunteers cleared tables and put away chairs. A tall, thin, homeless man stayed to lend a hand. "Thank you for helping," volunteer Pat Cleary said.

"Thank you for what you do," he replied.

Shane Anthony of the Post-Dispatch contributed to this report.

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